


For the Sake of Laughter

by TheMidnightOwl



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Amusement Park, Batjokes, Cute, Established Relationship, Feel-good, M/M, Rollercoasters, cute boys being cute, established batjokes, i just really love rollercoasters okay, theme park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMidnightOwl/pseuds/TheMidnightOwl
Summary: They’re both fine with their relationship being what it is: extreme, intense, passionate, violent.  But out of the blue Joker asked for a normal date.  It caught Bruce by such surprise that he agreed before he’d even heard what Joker wanted to do.  Of course, his chosen activity fit his personality so well that Bruce could almost smile.





	For the Sake of Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> This is so cheesy and so self indulgent but I couldn't stop thinking it. I hope it makes you smile.

He stares at himself in the mirror as he buttons his shirt.  They are supposed to be in plain clothes but he has only ever worn t-shirts for going undercover.  For a day out, he’s more comfortable wearing a button-down.  The shorts will probably never feel comfortable.  But today he promised a normal day.  They’re both fine with their relationship being what it is: extreme, intense, passionate, violent.  But out of the blue Joker asked for a normal date.  It caught Bruce by such surprise that he agreed before he’d even heard what Joker wanted to do.  Of course, his chosen activity fit his personality so well that Bruce could almost smile.

He hears something drop in the master bathroom, followed by swearing and telling the object to behave.  He walks over to lean against the door frame.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Joker says fondly as he meets Bruce’s eyes in the reflection.  He’s cleaning the stray color out of his hairline, still in his underwear.  Bruce lets himself wear his amusement on his face.

When J dyed his hair last night, it was such a bizarre sight that Bruce almost made him wash it out immediately.  Seeing him with honey brown hair felt too… unnatural, and isn’t that just ironic.  Bruce likes his green hair, especially when the warm lights of the city at night catch it at just the right angle and it shines.  Despite others thinking him dirty and unhygienic, Joker grooms himself with great care.  How expertly he dyed his hair himself suggests he’s done it in the past.  Bruce tries not to think about what purposes Joker might have needed to blend in with a crowd.  

He wonders if this is what Joker’s hair looked like before the accident, but he does not ask.  J doesn’t like when he brings up his “dead self.” 

Satisfied with the lines of his hair, Joker reaches for the jar of makeup.  One of the reasons, Bruce assumes, that the Joker only works at night is due to extreme photosensitivity.  His bleached skin has absolutely no resilience to the sun’s rays, and they are going out into the summer sun for a whole day.  The makeup he’s preparing now is custom made by himself, for himself.  For this date to work, he needs to be disguised and protected.  Not only must the makeup disguise his complexion, it must be a sweat-resistant sunscreen, over which real sunscreen can still be applied.  His skin needs to breathe as well, so it cannot be too heavy.  Essentially, it can’t be makeup.  It has to be a second skin.  He tested it for days and days to perfect the recipe.  It reminded Bruce what an exceptional chemist he is.  It’s something many people overlook.  His “happy gas” should be an obvious indicator of a highly skilled chemist, with how quickly and easily he can change the recipe enough to make Bruce’s numerous antidotes useless while still achieving the same overall effect.

Joker spreads the makeup on his face with some weird egg-shaped sponge.  It does the job well, and fast.  Just like that, Bruce is seeing an everyday person being born right in front of him.  He takes great care of his face, and when satisfied, starts on his neck, shoulders, arms, and the upper half of his chest, where his skin will be visible from the shirt he chose.  Lastly, he covers the parts of his legs that will be visible, which rises well above his knees.  Honestly, Bruce doesn’t mind.  Joker’s legs are sculpted like an Olympic runner’s, toned and firm but not bulky.  Given how frequently the two of them run around each other, it’s not surprising.  He will not mind looking at them all day.

Joker sets the makeup with a setting spray and waits to let it settle before doing it again.  While he’s waiting for the second layer to dry, he puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back with an overdramatic sigh.

“It takes _soooo_ long to be normal,” he complains with heavy sarcasm.  “You’re very lucky, you know.  I wouldn’t strip off my identity for just anyone.”  He glances at Bruce, who meets his eyes.  Bruce can hear the underlying message in that.  Joker could have easily dyed his hair, called it a skin condition and called it a day, leaving Bruce in a constant state of paranoia that they would be identified.  Joker believes that people are not observant, especially when their brains are getting cooked in the heat.  He chose, willingly, to disguise himself to make Bruce more comfortable, not himself.  Because, yes, his identity is directly chained to his unnatural features.  There is no one else under that face, he’d once said.  There was no one before the birth of the Joker.  Just a placeholder waiting to become a force of nature.  The activity was Joker’s choice, but he thinks Joker can sense that Bruce has wanted a day of normality between the two of them as well.  Equal give and take.  Balance.

Joker looks down at his own torso and hums.  “One hell of a tan line.” 

Bruce lets himself smile. It does look a little ridiculous.  They’d agreed to no waterpark, but Joker had looked petulant.  He’s going to pack all the makeup supplies just in case J can’t help himself.  The man is impulsive.  

Joker grabs the clothes folded neatly next to him and puts them on.  The shorts are a figure hugging purple that stop halfway up his thighs.  The shirt, which Bruce could not talk him out of, is a fitted purple with black bats flying from the bottom corner to the opposite top corner.  When Bruce had protested, he’d only waved his hand in dismissal.  _“You’re thinking too hard.”_   Bruce thinking too hard is what has kept them safe from suspicion.  This relationship is not easy, in more ways than one.  A carefree attitude is one only afforded to Joker, who remains phased by nothing.  But also, he will admit, as successful in hiding it as Bruce.  

Nonetheless, Bruce will never stop worrying. 

Joker smooths the shirt and turns this way and that in the mirror, his smile satisfied.  He turns to  Bruce and gestures at himself before spreading his arms.  “Whada ya think?”

“You look,” he tries, “I mean…” he’s at a loss for words.  He hopes his tone doesn’t sound negative.

The toothy smile he’s flashed says no.  “Stunned silent, Im flattered.”  He blows a kiss before returning to the mirror, some sort of tool in hand.  He squeezes his eyelashes with the tool, then opens a tube of mascara.  He brushes them delicately, shaping while also disguising their green hue.  He brushes the tops as well, then repeats the motions.  Bruce has seen starlets and models spend hours in front of the mirror, shaping and perfecting their features for the merciless and unforgiving world of beauty.  Joker is just as careful.

He doesn’t notice the contact case until Joker is opening it and delicately fishing out the right lens.  They are colored brown.

“No-” he blurts out before he realizes he has.  Joker turns to look at him with a puzzled expression.  “You don’t, I think, they… no one’s going to recognize you from your eyes.  You’ll be more comfortable if you don’t wear them.”  He hopes it sounds logical and not emotional.  His J is covered under a layer of makeup and plain clothes.  But his eyes, those radiant malachite orbs sharp as the knife he carries and palpably intelligent; it somehow seems wrong to cover them like this.  Joker's eyes reflect all of him, and to obscure them this way, to change them, makes his heart clench and burn.  His J doesn’t have brown eyes.

Those eyes are analyzing him, now.  He can feel them on his face, the micro movements of his eyes reading his body like a laser.  The time between is barely three beats when Joker shrugs, slips the lens back into the case and closes it tight.  He turns to leave and steals a light kiss on his way to his bag.  A small shoulder bag that fits his phone and a wallet and not much else, it rests comfortably across his chest.  Not that he’d need a wallet while out with Bruce Wayne, which is part of the reason the bag puzzles him.

“You don’t have pockets?” He asks conversationally.

“Nope,” Joker says, popping the “p” in amusement.  “Ladies don’t get pockets.  How else would Michael Kors sell his bags?”

That is an excellent point that Bruce had never considered before.  With an agreeing shrug, he leads the way out of the room and down four floors to the garage.  They need the least flashy car, but unfortunately he doesn’t own anything more commonplace than the Bugatti and Tesla.  He really should get a generic car for undercover work.  And if this should become a regular thing.  Normal dates.  He still doesn’t believe this is happening.  

Joker jumps in front of him to steal the driver’s seat.  He push-starts the engine.  The sneaky little shit actually pickpocketed the Batman.  Bruce shoves him unceremoniously over the console into the passenger seat.  Giggles bubble in the air as he realigns himself.  He doesn’t wear his seatbelt.  Bruce doesn’t say anything.  The garage opens, and they’re on their way.

———————

The drive from the manor is long.  Joker had wanted to stay in a hotel closer to the park.  _“One of those ostentatious ones that leave you little towel animals.”_ Bruce unfortunately had a meeting the day before that he could not afford to skip, so they stayed at home.  In all honesty, Bruce was prepared for the long car ride to be unbearable; a caged Joker is not a happy Joker.  But he was okay.  He poked fun at the car, poked fun about finally getting Bruce out of Gotham, started listing everything he wanted to do when they got there, and whatever random thoughts popped up that he had to say aloud.  But for the most part, they sat in comfortable silence, which is the last thing Bruce expected.  Joker would turn on the radio sometimes, flip through it until he either found a song he liked or heard too many that he didn’t and shut it off again.  Or he’d sing on his own, which Bruce doesn’t mind, as he is relieving his energy in a healthy manner.  He has a nice voice when he’s not using it to terrorize.  He doesn’t know where this level of self control is coming from, but he’s happy it exists.  Joker is clearly committed to making this day good for the both of them.

As they get closer, Joker’s excitement becomes harder for him to contain.  His fingers drum on the armrest, his leg bounces, he shifts in his seat.  And when the tops of the rides poke above the tree tops, he’s glued to his window.  When they turn in to the parking lot, Joker smiles at him so warmly, and that right there has already made the whole trip worth it.  His face might not be his own at the moment, but nothing will ever change that smile.  

The walk from the parking lot doesn’t go fast enough for Joker, but Bruce is proud of him for the amount of self control he’s maintaining.  At long last they reach the gates, which are only minutes from opening.  The brick-and-wood archway, decorated with six flags of  frayed reds, whites, blues, and aged gold stars, speak of the park’s many years.  Bruce pays for the tickets, and they line up for the metal detectors.  He hands over his bag and passes through, then holds his breath as Joker follows.  The detector sounds for him.  Bruce’s blood pressure skyrockets.  He hadn’t even thought to check if he had anything on him.  Joker gets wanded; the buttons of his pockets are metal.  He’s handed his bag and waved through.  Bruce exhales audibly.

Adjusting his shoulder strap, Joker smirks at him.  “Worried I’d try to sneak something in?”

“Yes,” Bruce answers honestly.

In a way that’s both reassuring and mocking, Joker pats his shoulder.  “I’m not so uncontrollably self-sabotaging that I’d risk messing this up, sweetie.  You need to let yourself relax.  That’s the whole point of a vacation.  Even a tiny one.”

Bruce follows him as he walks away, mentally telling himself to try and relax.  He has to trust Joker to be able to control himself.  When he commits to something, he can do anything.  But he’ll need Bruce’s trust; if he senses that Bruce doesn’t believe he can, he’ll retaliate.  Don’t mess this up.

He opens the map of the park, which Joker immediately snatches out of his hands and tosses it into a convenient trashcan.  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he says with a smile in his voice.  Ass.

He points to a tall track of orange steel and grey wood trussing.  “We’re riding that first.”  And so he leads the way with long, confident strides, with Bruce eventually catching up.  He’s hardly watching where he’s walking, but somehow still sees which ways to move so as not to run in to anyone.  He’s looking at every shop, game, and smaller ride they pass with a gleam in his eyes Bruce hasn’t been able to identify yet.

He wasn’t expecting a wooden coaster.  He’s amazed they still have one.  It’s also a bit peculiar that Joker would single out the only wooden coaster in the park right away.   They pass under the simple arch that marks the start of the line.  The queue cuts through the middle of the ride; it’s common for wooden coasters to form an oval, leaving a good amount of space in the center.  As he looks around, he begins to notice that this isn’t a traditional wooden coaster.  Actually, he doesn’t think its wood at all.  The banks are too hard for a decades-old wooden structure, and as a train passes by it feels too fast and sounds too smooth.  Giving the tresses a more careful examination, he notices that the majority of the supports are steel, made to look like wood.  There are scattered horizontal planks that do appear to be real wood; likely from the coaster’s original construction before they rebuilt it.

This is a bit ridiculous, he thinks to himself as they enter the train.  He’s the Batman.  He jumps off of 60 story buildings and throws himself into the air with a pocket-sized grapnel gun every night.  Riding a rollercoaster should be a dull experience after the life he has chosen.  It should be dull for the life Joker lives, too, jumping across and off of rooftops and blowing up buildings every fortnight.  But the excitement on his face, the anticipation as he folds his impossibly long legs so he can sit properly in the car, with his seatbelt fastened and lap bar snug against his thighs in an instant, is so genuine that there’s a tightness in Bruce’s heart, lined with a bit of guilt.

The ride lurches, and the train rolls out of the station.  The climb is steeper than it appears.  Bruce grips the lap bar instinctively.

“Is this a bad time to have to pee?” Joker shouts.  Bruce refuses to smile for that.

The train starts to round at the top.  Joker’s hands shoot skyward; one smacks Bruce’s arm.  “C’mon, Brucie, put your hands up!”  Bruce rolls his eyes inwardly before complying.

Joker laughs the entire way through, and he has a feeling that’s going to be the script for the day.  Somehow the architects for this ride managed to make a wooden-style coaster with a corkscrew and two barrel rolls, all hidden from the angles of the queue, with no shoulder harnesses.  A completely traditional design with the capabilities of modern physics.  It was a pleasant surprise.

When they get out, Joker runs straight for the photo concierge to look for their on-ride photo.  Bruce hands over his card to buy two copies of the photo.  He has a feeling he’s going to be buying all of them, with or without a request from Joker.  He’ll enjoy the photographic evidence of Joker experiencing true joy in a way that doesn’t involve people suffering or dying. 

The crowd is picking up, but in the direction of the waterpark.  At the moment Joker doesn’t seem too interested in trying the waterpark, despite the heat, which is relieving.  The less temptation the better.  The sights and sounds and smells are feeding his hypersensitivity in a way he rarely experiences.  Instead of overstimulation, it seems it soothes him, the way speed helps people with ADHD concentrate.  He’s comfortable, and unashamedly happy.  Bruce envies him.  Envies the ease in which he can let himself go for anything, let himself feel anything and feel it without reserve.

Joker leads the way through the park, and Bruce happily follows at his side.  As they pass the ring toss, Joker stops and points. “See that brown bear?” 

He refers to a monstrous stuffed toy the size of a Smart car.  “Yeah?”

“I’m winning that.”

Bruce gives him a look.  “You know those games are rigged, right?”

“Of course I do, silly.  But who better to win at a cheat than a cheater?” His smile is smug.  Bruce shakes his head and keeps walking, again letting Joker choose their path when he catches up.  They can play games later.  He’s not hauling around a giant stuffed bear the whole day.  And he knows damn well he’d end up being the one to carry them all.

Movement catches his eye.  It’s the drop tower.  Instead of a slow climb to the top, the car launches from the bottom, then moving up and down for a while before slowly climbing to the top again.  A scream erupts from the engine, and then the car falls again.  Bruce’s lips tug into an impressed look.  He hasn’t seen a drop tower like that before.  He glances at Joker, who is watching enraptured as a different tower in the structure of three launches.  Bruce walks in the direction of the towers, knowing Joker wants to go.  The ride is too short for Joker’s taste, but the smaller up and down motions after the launch and drop give Bruce a headache so they don’t get in line again.  

Joker decides he wants to ride the red one next so they make their way to it, and Bruce is amazed to see how something so compact manages to fit that many inversions in it.  It’s a hanging coaster, so it’s not going to be as aerodynamic, and just their luck that they’d get the back.  They’re both rubbing their necks when they get off, but it was actually a good ride so Bruce doesn’t complain about the mild head trauma.  Joker doesn’t seem to be put off by it either.  He’s laughing about all the barrel rolls they’ve done in only three rides.  Bruce’s heart flutters.  

An ice cream parlor is their next stop.  Joker wants a milkshake.  Bruce gets a refillable novelty bottle while they’re there so they’ll have water throughout the day.  Joker is _not_ drinking milkshakes and soda all day.  Even if it would never show on him, the high metabolism bastard.  According to his phone, the high today is going to be 93°.  They’ll both need real hydration.  J might need to reapply his makeup.  He’ll find a tube to shove down Joker’s throat and pour the water in himself if he has to.  A trip to first aid because Joker’s too damn stubborn to care about his body is the last thing they need.

Joker giggles between gulps of chocolate.  “Memento?” 

“Necessity,” Bruce corrects.  Joker just shrugs, too content to tease.  For now.

They stroll in comfortable silence for a while.  Joker’s gaze switches subjects frequently as they walk.  His free hand brushes Bruce’s occasionally, and Bruce becomes overwhelmed with the sudden urge to take it in his.  But he doesn’t know the social atmosphere of this state, doesn’t know if they will get harassed, or himself get identified and return home to headlines of _Bruce Wayne: Secret Boyfriend?_   So, as dejecting it is, he keeps his hand at his side.

His eyes return to Joker’s face, which still wears a content expression as the shake is rapidly disappearing.  Seriously, its barely been five minutes and he’s already more than half finished.  

“How are you with spinny rides?”  Joker asks.  

“If you’re planning to try and get me on the teacups you’re going to be disappointed,” he answers with just a hint of passive aggression. 

“Get dizzy easily?  Ha!  I’ll have to remember that.”  He looks around, and grins.  “How ‘bout that?”

Joker is referring to a circular steel track called Firebolt.  The train rocks back and fourth until it builds enough momentum to make a complete loop, then slows down so it can repeat the pattern in the opposite direction. 

“No,” he deadpans.

“Aw, c’mon Ba- Brucie!” Joker tries.  “It’s not spinning, it’s rocking!”  He has agreed to not calling Bruce “Bats,” even though the odds of anyone putting it together is almost none.

Bruce looks at it again.  It’s close to making a full rotation.  “Maybe later,” he concedes, “when you’re not a vomit risk.”

Joker feigns insult.  “Im offended.  You know for a _fact_ I can control my gag reflex.  And you punch me in the stomach repeatedly every time we see each other.”

He pointedly ignores the innuendo.  “You’ve never eaten before we’ve fought.  And I don’t punch you every time we see each other.”

“You really do.”

“I haven’t punched you today.  Although Im starting to consider it.”

Joker laughs.  It’s so fond that Bruce’s heart lurches a little.  And again, he’s hit with the urge to take Joker’s hand.  

They stroll until Joker finishes his shake, and then he points at the tallest hill in the park.  “That one.”

“We’ll make our way to it,” Bruce promises.  It’s on the other side of the park.  

“Okay,” Joker almost pouts.  He points again without turning his head.  “That one.”

It’s an impressive beast.  Another hanging train, this one is a boomerang coaster, where the train is pulled backwards up a hill and dropped.  The track ends with another hill, is dragged all the way up, and is released again to repeat the track backwards.  Only this one does not have hills, it has towers.  The train is pulled backward at a 90 degree angle, straight up and straight down.  It’s the largest boomerang coaster he’s ever seen.  Actually, this one might give him some adrenaline.

The line is long, which worries him, but again Joker behaves himself.  He gets a little impatient, but a normal level of impatient, the same that everyone feels when waiting in a long line.  His hands squeeze and ring the strap of his bag unconsciously, an outlet for the energy he’s withholding.  At one point someone in a group next to them says something funny, and Joker calls out a response, which makes the whole group laugh harder.  They exchange a few more lines together before returning to their own business.  It’s such a normal, everyday, casual social behavior that Bruce’s jaw slacks.  He knows when Joker is acting.  That wasn’t an act.  Underneath the sadism and nihilism there is a comedian that wants to make people laugh for the sake of making them laugh.  

Tension he didn’t know he was holding relaxes, replaced by a lightness of being.  His heart hurts.

The chain is replaced in front of the group just ahead.  Joker doesn’t even try to contain his joy.  “Sooo close!”  He beams at Bruce from behind his clenched hands.  Bruce returns the smile, the lightness glowing a bit more.  He’s done more smiling today than he can ever remember.

The train shoots past them so fast a woman’s hat is blown off her head.  The sound of wheels on metal thrums in their chests.  His lip pulls up in a half smile when the train is caught by the second tower.  He will never outright admit it to the family - though they probably assume so already - that he is an adrenaline junkie.  One that’s very hard to satisfy with all that he does.  Diving out of burning buildings is hard to top.  But if he’d just let himself be a person, a normal person who isn’t a billionaire nor a Batman, maybe he’ll get that rush Joker is getting in spite of his lifestyle.  So when they’re let through the chain and standing in front of the gates, he tries his best to leave them both behind.

Another couple joins them in their row.  Joker is in his seat with the harness pulled down before Bruce can put his sunglasses in the bin.  He kicks Joker’s leg playfully when he goes to sit down.

“You’re going to fall out of that,” he says patronizingly, noting how loose his harness is.  The attendants have yet to secure them.

“You’d save me.”  Joker says it so matter-of-factly that for a second Bruce wonders if he genuinely believes he could.  The amount of trust Joker has in him is intimidating.  His body and brain don’t quite know how to compartmentalize this inherent faith.

The couple next to them are chatting nervously.  Joker peers at them with a devilish grin.  Bruce kicks his leg again, gives him a gentle yet stern look.  His face scrunches in annoyance, but doesn’t say anything to them.  Instead, he aims it at Bruce, and says it loud.

“What do you think the odds are of the restraints failing?  Y’know ‘cause personally I prefer when there’s also a seatbelt.  Though I suppose that’s realistically only a mental reassurance.  I mean, really, if these harnesses failed, what’s a strip of fabric going to do when you’re upside down?”

The attendants come to test the harnesses.  “Please push his extra hard for me,” Bruce asks, flashing his most charming smile at the young employee.  They laugh once, and push down perhaps harder than necessary.  Joker laughs, too.

“What else can that smile of yours buy?” he asks.  Bruce only responds with the same grin.

The floor drops.  They’re moving backwards.  He can feel the tension in the train as the back is pulled up, more and more until they, too, are no longer facing forward, but down, down, down.  In front of them is merciless steel, below them is only grass, pavement, and a few bystanders watching in fascination and possibly dread.  Nothing separates them from the distance.  If they fall, there is nothing they can use to catch themselves, nothing to save them.  Their immobility takes their agency in this possibility away.  Either it will happen or it won’t.  Bruce feels his heart begin to pound.

Joker flashes him a spine-chilling grin.  Just as he’s about to return the smile, they drop.  He’s pressed into his seat, and the station flies by in a flash of color and shadow before giving way to an open sky and a twisting track.  He can hear traces of Joker’s laughter in the air rushing around his ears, made more audible as they are caught by the second tower.  Facing straight up now, Joker’s laughs are heavy with his panting.  “Oh this is gonna be fun,” he shouts at Bruce.  The only sights visible are the pale blue of the sky, which contrasts starkly with the daunting tower.  Closer and closer the train pulls to the top, and though he knows the thought is ridiculous, that instinctual worry sets in his chest that they might climb too far.

A click.

Color, sound, space, they’re all the same.  The sky remains in place but the tower grows, and then is taken away, replaced by latticing bars and the edges of Joker’s arms in his peripheral vision.  The sound of Joker’s laugh is the same as the roar of the tracks, the screams coming from all sides when they’re supposed to only be behind him, the whistling of the air that rushes through the station.  The chain catches, and they’re being pulled backwards _again._ Returned to his body, Bruce panics that they ran the ride again.  But no, they’re being lowered slowly, and pull back into the station at a steady pace.  The floor greets them, and they’re walking on auto pilot to the exit.  His head is still spinning.

“Holy _shit,”_ Joker laughs.  And laughs, and laughs.  “You should have seen your _face,_ Brucie.  It looked like your eyes were gonna fall outta your skull when we dropped.  Did you eat a bug?  You had to have eaten a bug.  Your mouth was wide open.”

Fuck it all, Bruce laughs with him.  

When they catch their breaths, Joker’s expression is smug.  “You’re enjoying yourself,” he says, voice heavy, “you thought you were going to have to _tolerate_ this, but you’re having fun.”  It’s not a question.

Bruce shoves him playfully with his shoulder, and sets the pace.

When Bruce says it’s time to eat, Joker doesn’t argue.  In fact, he stands in line with Bruce and orders for himself.  He opens the little containers of condiments and starts picking at the fries when they find a table.  Bruce knows he pecks at his food like a bird, so he’s willing to sit here however long it takes for J to finish.  To his astonishment, Joker finishes the plate.  Not a second later, he’s itching to move again.  Bruce convinces him not to get on a ride immediately by asking if he wants to take a look in one of the shops.

It’s mostly clothing, which he knows Joker would never buy, but the knick knacks and toys are enough to keep his attention for a while.  He’ll buy him whatever he wants after they feel like they’re done with rides for the day.  Joker agrees they should come back later.

“That one,” he points to a black hill in the direction of the waterpark.  Bruce hesitates.  Joker grabs his hand and tugs him forward, knowing that if he really wanted to Bruce could stop them.  He doesn’t.  Joker’s hand in his is lighting fireworks in his brain.

The entrance to the ride appears as they round the corner, and Joker is immediately paralyzed with laughter.  Bruce, on the other hand, can’t decide if he’s flattered or mortified.  Mounted on the arch that starts the queue is a gray and black bat symbol.  _His_ symbol.  The ride is called The Batman.  Joker’s laughing so hard he’s bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Oh, Brucie,” he laughs airily.  “You’re not just batty, you’re _loopy_.”  And he bends over with laughter again at his own horrible pun.  

“Are we riding it or just laughing at it?” Bruce deadpans, failing to keep the fondness completely out of his voice.

“Okay, okay, I think I’m done,” Joker wipes his eyes carefully, then leads the way.  Giggles still slip through his lips as they pass under the offending archway.  Bruce clenches his fists to stop himself from reaching out.

They ride The Batman twice.  The line still isn’t long yet; Joker says something about round two coming so quickly and how he’ll never get tired of riding the Batman.  There are going to be a lot of innuendos in Bruce’s future, he can feel it.  For both today and going forward, because of this stupid rollercoaster.  He can’t find it in himself to be genuinely annoyed.

With the front half of the park mostly explored, they make their way down the hill towards the bottom half.  The large, firetruck red slope of the tallest coaster grows ever brighter and ever higher as they approach.  Next to him, he can feel the anticipation rolling off of Joker.  Until something catches his attention.

He had paid no mind to the temporary stage until the music started.  Joker stops in his tracks, his full attention drawn away from the ride.  The duo that walk out onto the stage are clad in a classic circus attire, all monochrome.  The man, dressed as the ring leader, introduces them as a brother and sister circus performance act.  He spares a glance at Joker, who is wearing a competitive smile.

They walk on coals, they lay on needles, they swallow swords - which actually earns applause from Joker, - “they’re definitely not fake” - they juggle, walk a tightrope, and perhaps most impressive, they’re a perfect team.  It is a rehearsed show, but no amount of rehearsal can spark chemistry, and their stage presence is glowing.  Their comfort and trust with one another is what a daring duo need if they’re going to survive the danger they willingly put themselves in.

He clenches his hand through beading sweat.

“Not bad,” Joker comments as they leave the show, “good teamwork, but they need to work on their stage presence a little.  A joke here or there wouldn’t go amiss.  Or involving the audience somehow.  Like throwing them a water pistol filled with gasoline when they’re walking on the coals!”  He laughs.  “Now that would be some quality entertainment!”

Bruce side-eyes him, but says nothing.  He can let him have this one moment of questionable humor.  

He learns from the plaque at the entrance gate that the climb is 210ft and the drop is 220ft.  He doesn’t tell Joker to save his ears some talking.  Next to the plaque is a test chair, one to use to measure if you can ride.  The car looks tiny.  There’s a height limit, too; Bruce barely makes it.  The queue is like a maze.  He thinks they overestimated how popular the ride would be.

They wait about forty-five minutes to get to the gate, which isn’t that long, considering how crowded it is.  As they pass through the turnstile, he sees why they have such a large queue.  Eight framed awards make up the entire left wall.  “World’s Best Coaster” five and three consecutive years.  Joker sees them, too, and is practically jumping out of his clothes.  Joker follows Bruce’s gaze over his shoulder.  He knows what J’s going to say as soon as he spots it.  There’s a separate line to wait for the front row.

“We’re waiting for it.”

Bruce shakes his head with a smile, and joins him in line.  It adds an extra twenty minutes to their wait, but he knows it’s going to be worth it.  At long last, the gates open for them.  Joker is in his seat before Bruce makes it around the opening gate.  He clicks his seatbelt closed and pulls it taut - it’s as tight as it can go, he really should eat more.  He has to cross his legs to get the lap bar over them.  It’s a very graceless effort for Bruce to get settled with all the safety measures.  Why the hell are the cars this small.  The attendants tug on their seatbelts as they start down the train.  

Joker is staring mesmerized at the picture in front of them.  That look is back.   210ft of red track and black chain piercing a pale blue sky.  It’s almost an optical illusion, like the climb never truly ends.  But it does.  In this moment, strapped into a metal death trap staring up at a rise and fall that should kill them, his J is a child again.  Maybe for the first time.

The train before them rushes by like thunder.  Brief, loud, and ever forward.

The locks disengage, and they’re starting their ascent.  He hadn’t heard the other train stop.  Joker’s clapping he’s so excited, and there’s a warmth in Bruce’s chest.

“Ooh, this is gonna be better than Paris!” Joker exclaims.  It takes a minute for Bruce to remember.  He doesn’t know if he should be offended at being bested by a ride, so he says nothing.  Joker cannot contain his laughter anymore as they reach the final feet of the climb.  When the nose begins to round, his hands shoot skyward.  

There’s a single second when riding the front car where the world stops.  Just a single moment.  In that singular frame of time, there is you, and a 200 foot plummet to certain death, where the only form of protection you have is a chair on wheels.  You cannot see the entire fall, for the drop is so steep that from the very top there’s the illusion that it folds in on itself.  So you’re there, and for a single moment you’re suspended in animation, that beat between the chain releasing and gravity pulling, looking death right in the eyes…

…and saying _fuck you._

And as they pass over the tallest point, that moment comes for him, and it hollows out his stomach.  He is the Batman, he has free fallen from buildings this height and higher with the only means of stopping being a thin metal wire fired out a small handle, and he does this every night.  But that feeling can never be taken away.  Thousands of years of evolution dictate that you fear what you will not survive.  There’s always that rush right before he jumps, that moment in time where he dares death to stop him.  It rests in his stomach.  The same way its resting there now, at the top of a rollercoaster.  His lover, the whole reason he’s here, sits next to him, ready to jump with him.  He throws his hands up because he knows Joker will want him to.  

It is without a doubt the longest ride in the park, and the thrill Bruce had been waiting for.  Joker’s laughter carries him through the ride like a siren song.  The sound of Joker’s laugh when it’s from pure joy is so beautiful.  He’s a man of extremes.  His apathy is murderous, but his euphoria is contagious.  And when the breaks pull them to a stop from 55 miles per hour to zero in 2.5 seconds, the song doesn’t stop.  There are tears in Joker’s eyes, and his smile…

He looks at Bruce, and Bruce looks at him.  

He gives Joker his card so he can buy the on-ride photo.  He wants to stare at the structure a little longer.  Another train rushes by, merely feet away from the walkway and photo counter.  The wind on his face and the roar of the beast feels, well, a little like home.  Which is strange.

Joker’s mischievous laughter breaks his trance.  “Aw, Brucie, this should be our Christmas card.”  Joker turns the photo around for him to see.  It’s them, together, having fun.  Joker in pure bliss and Bruce looking at him wish a smile so candid that he barely recognizes himself.  Joker’s happiness truly is contagious.  Here he is, allowing himself to experience and feel J’s bliss with him.  Real, unapologetic, healthy joy.

They ride the red beast one more time when the sun goes down.  Front row again.  The lights of the self-contained universe below them are stunning, like Gotham on one of her more colorful nights.  But with better thrills and a more tolerable populous, Joker adds.  When he can’t take it anymore they bid farewell to the rides so Joker can play games.  

As they walk away from the beast, Bruce’s heart starts to race.  He wants to.  He wants to so badly and he doesn’t know if he can or if he should but he wants to and Joker will like it right yes he should like it but there’s fear and panic and then he… looks at Joker’s profile.  He’s so beautiful.  He doesn’t look like himself but he still does, and Bruce has spent all day trying to make him happy because he wants him to be happy, always happy, and all he wants for himself right now is this one, small thing, so just do it already damnit…

His fingers brush Joker’s.  He keeps himself facing forward, not daring to look, lest the pressure in his heart bursts.  He curls them just barely, letting Joker know it wasn’t an accident.  Joker’s hand slips into his with ease, fingers locked, like they do this every day.  He releases the breath he’s been holding.  Joker’s looking ahead, his smile soft.  Not a word is spoken.

Joker wins the bear.  He has no idea _how_ Joker wins the bear, but he wins the bear.  To Bruce’s relief, he insists on carrying the thing himself.  He holds its arms around his neck, and he’s wearing it like a backpack.  He saved it for the absolute last thing they would do because he knew he would win it.  But just for the sake of it, Bruce buys them both milkshakes.  Watching Joker try to figure out how to hold the drink without letting the bear scrape on the ground is so amusing.  After a solid minute or two of Joker fussing, Bruce takes the drink back and holds it out so he can get at the straw.  

They get the bear - Joker has already named it Bruce - into the back seat, but only just.  They’re leaning against the car to finish their shakes, gazing at the flashing lights and enjoying the distant sounds of metal and fun.  

Never at all in his lifetime had he ever considered he would be in a moment like this.  He spent his adolescence in fear, his young adulthood in anger, training himself to be a weapon.  He lived his life alone, fixated on righting the wrong, accepting that he would never live the life his parents had wanted for him.  His future was always destined to be dark, from the moment they were shot through the day he first put on the suit and forward.  Dates at amusement parks with ride photos and milkshakes and stuffed bears and holding hands, that’s not his life.  That’s not the Joker’s life.

And now, it’s both of theirs.

“You know, I’ve never actually been to an amusement park,” Joker says softly.  “Not an operating one, anyway.”

Bruce almost drops his drink.  He looks Joker over, who is shying away from his gaze.  “Never?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Not even before…?” He doesn’t want to bring up Joker’s past, but curiosity has the better of him.

Joker shrugs uncomfortably.  He still won’t meet Bruce’s eyes.  “Wouldn’t know,” he answers, voice quiet and somewhere else.

Bruce shifts his weight, looks back at the park.  “Neither have I.”

Joker slips his hand into Bruce’s.  They slot together effortlessly again, like they were made for each other.  They stand together hand in hand, staring at the sights and sounds of their playground well after their cups are empty and the parking lot is vacant.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If I made you smile please tell me because it would make me so happy. Or if you want to say anything, really. I was unsure about posting this piece because of how silly I feared it would be to other people. I hope you enjoyed it, and have a good summer.


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